


Let Go, I'll Catch You

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-23
Updated: 1999-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief vignette, not really about anything besides finding shelter in someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go, I'll Catch You

Three a.m. and Scully was still in Mulder's apartment. Fuck it. He should just go up there anyway; it wasn't like it would be that surprising to either of them if he showed up without warning.

Flowers blooming outside Mulder's building; the trees with their new green leaves. Spring. Fuck that, too. Everything was as dead as winter now, everything was gone, burned to pile of ashes and cinders. The smell still clung to him; the watery, oily, noxious stench of wet ashes, melted plastic, charred wood. The smell of defeat.

Scully standing there with her face pressed against Mulder's chest, her arms around him. Mulder standing there motionless, not even bothering to comfort Scully, expecting all the comfort for himself. But he was beyond consolation.

And Skinner was there, too, wanting to comfort him, wanting to hold him, tell him it was all right. But it wasn't; they all knew that.

Skinner gave up. No, he couldn't go in there now, not with this agony so blatantly exposed. Skinner walked back to his car and got in. Just as he closed the door, he saw Scully leave the building and walk towards her car, shoulders slumped. He could see the dark smudges of char across her beige coat where she'd brushed up against the office doorway, right after he'd come in to check on them both.

He watched her drive away, then got out and buzzed the front door intercom. Mulder's weary voice answered, seemingly unsurprised to have Skinner visiting him at three in the morning, the very night his office had burned down.

Mulder answered the door without looking at him. Skinner was surprised he would let him in at all.

"Something to drink?" Mulder asked, already in the kitchen. He filled a glass with water, threw some tablets into his right hand, then gulped them all down with the water.

"No. I came to see... I wanted to see if you were all right. You left before I could talk to you." I wanted to see if you were going to do something foolish, something I'm terrified of.

Mulder only gave a snorting, rueful laugh. "Yeah, I'm just dandy." He went to the couch and sat down, his back stiff, his eyes staring straight ahead, his hands on his knees. "Why are you really here?"

"I don't know." To comfort you, you intractable little shit, to hold you and make things better. Couldn't Mulder see that? How obvious did it have to be before Mulder would look far enough inside him to see? These inchoate feelings stymied him.

"Well, then, I'm afraid you're not going to be much help, are you?"

"I suppose not." Nevertheless, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch, looking at the fish in the tank.

"Who do you think did it? Spender? Or Smoky?"

"I don't know. As screwed up as I think Spender is, I don't think he's that foolish. My money's on your cancerman."

Mulder stared straight ahead for some time. Then without warning he pitched forward, put his head in his hands, a huge, shuddering sob wracking his body. "Everything I've worked for." He breathed in, out, gulping for control. "I'm hanging on this ledge by my fingernails, hundreds of feet above the pavement, and if I let go, I'll be pulverized." Finally he looked at Skinner. "Did you even try?" he asked in a voice shredded by fatigue.

Time to settle in for the fight, take the gloves off. Skinner stood up and took off his coat, laying it over the desk chair, folded precisely. Sat back down, this time closer to Mulder. "I lost whatever semblance of power I had a long time ago, at least as far as the X-Files are concerned. They weren't interested; they wanted damage control. I'm a hindrance now, and they've grown tired of my message."

Wiping at his eyes, Mulder hiccuped a laugh. "Well, look at me anyway. Acting all grown up."

"You're entitled."

"To *what*?" he asked incredulously. "They've taken everything away."

"Not everything." Not love.

When you finally looked at your fate, did you recognize it? Did Mulder know he was both the hope, and the dread, of Skinner's future?

The scrutinizing gaze was like laser light, singeing him. Skinner reached across and brushed his fingers lightly across Mulder's hand.

"Did you know I grew up partly in Hawaii? My dad was in the Navy and stationed at Pearl for most of my childhood. My brothers and sisters and I used to go off on these forays to explore the island. You never knew when a storm was coming, so you had to be careful. One of the first things we learned was to find a bamboo thicket, and stay there. It bends; it doesn't break. It's safer there."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip. "You never struck me as the pleasant homily type."

"I'm not."

Leaning back against the couch, Mulder turned and looked at Skinner for a while. Like light coming up with dawn, an awareness was growing in Mulder's eyes. He sat up. "Oh."

"Yeah, well."

"What, you weren't going to say anything? Ever?"

He winced. "I never thought you might need me." I couldn't hope that hard.

"Oh, please. When have I not?" Mulder leaned forward and put his palm flat against Skinner's chest, then rested his forehead on Skinner's collarbone.

Stones piled on a board, then pressed upon on his chest. He couldn't breathe suddenly, the weight of the world, of Mulder's heart, compressing his lungs.

"This is my storm," Mulder said against his chest, a tingly reverberation cutting into him.

Skinner's hand circling Mulder's wrist, pulling fingers to his lips. Pressing the knuckles to his mouth, holding them there. Mulder looking up at him then, with everything in his eyes -- fear, loneliness, trust.

His arms went around Mulder's shoulders, and Mulder seemed to melt into him. He had never imagined holding Mulder would reveal these textures, these sensations. "I'm strong and I don't break, Fox."

But I will bend to be your shelter.

**Author's Note:**

> For Cynthia, for caring.


End file.
